


sacrament of cleansing

by mismatched (miscalculated)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christianity, Depression, M/M, Read the notes please, References to Depression, Religion, Religion Kink, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscalculated/pseuds/mismatched
Summary: Lee Chan. Before Wonwoo knew he was Pastor Lee’s son, he was the guy that giggled behind tiny hands whenever Wonwoo sat down on the stool.And it’s Chan that continues to see Wonwoo well after he stops going to his father’s church. It’s Chan that sneaks off to Wonwoo’s apartment on weekend nights, to Wonwoo’s office room, and sucks his dick while Wonwoo tries to fucking work.This, Wonwoo thinks as he tips his head down to watch Chan pull off the head of his dick with an obscene pop,is what opens heaven.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	sacrament of cleansing

**Author's Note:**

> howdy, 
> 
> yes, hi, i know. im sorry. this fic heavily sexualizes religion (more specifically, christianity), so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read. 
> 
> with that being said, yeah, a wonchan. yaaay. i saw a pic of chan looking all cute in a beret and suspenders and my brain was like _write this right now_. so i wrote it right then. 
> 
> hope those of you that read it enjoy. i enjoyed writing it, ngl. but some of you know me by now... 
> 
> thanks for reading! your thoughts mean a lot [heart emoji]

His mother’s solution for ‘the depression’ is a baptism. _God is the only thing you haven’t tried_ , she tells him, when in his moment of weakness, he calls her at one in the morning sick with grief. (Over what? Who fucking knows. That’s always the worst part.) _You have to let Him heal you_. 

And— yeah. That’s true. Wonwoo’s been on antidepressants for years, therapy for twice that. There was this phase when he meditated every morning and evening, desperate for something to give, for the constant weight tied to his bones to lift; then, there was the six month stretch when he tried hypnosis therapy until he couldn’t justify draining his wallet anymore. Shit’s expensive. And, of course, there were more destructive avenues: drinking, smoking. Lots of drinking. Taking Benadryl around the clock to keep himself asleep on his days off, because sometimes being conscious feels like being crammed into a cage three sizes too small, or having to relive his high school years— except the bullies live permanently inside his head. 

So. Baptism. Religion. God. His last resort. Wonwoo takes a weekend to go to his mother’s church in Changwon—Namson Church—and stands knee-deep in water as the deacon holds tight onto one shoulder and hand, the congregation watching from their spots in the pew. He’s in a plain, white tee and some slacks he hasn’t worn in over ten years, trying his damndest to live in the moment. Treat this ordeal with the respect and maturity it deserves. 

This is supposed to be the first step to salvation. This is supposed to allow God into his soul, to allow Wonwoo to live eternally with Him. If only he’d stop being a ‘realist’ and accept that the only person that can cure him of his depression is Him, then maybe he can stop with the Zoloft. Let Sunday service become his therapy. Swallow his pride and tell his mom that she’s been right all along, and his rebellious, teenage self was just putting off the inevitable. If only, if only, if only. 

_Matthew 3:16_ , she’ll recite on the drive home, when he’s shivering and overwhelmed to tears. _As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him_.

But now— “Because of your faith in Jesus Christ,” the deacon proclaims, loud enough that his voice reverberates past the chancel and down the nave. “We baptize you now, in the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit.” Then Wonwoo’s being guided down down down, dunked into the water and back up just as quickly. The congregation, the witness, is pleased, his mother weeps, and as Wonwoo is guided out of the water and into a warm towel, the only thought that crosses his mind is— 

_This is what opens heaven?_

  
  
  


In a roundabout way, Wonwoo’s baptism _does_ help. If only for the few months that he attempts to rebuild his foundation, Sunday service gets him out of his apartment and into civilization. And his relationship with his parents somewhat improves, now that they finally have something to discuss that doesn’t end in a shouting match or silent treatment. Even when he returns to Mapo, Wonwoo continues to attend service on his own. At the very back of the pew, crammed into a corner as if that somehow erases his one-hundred and eighty-two centimeters from existence. 

He reads the parables. Sings along to the hymns, albeit softly and without certainty. He attends Wednesday bible study as one of the oldest members— which makes the teenagers giggle at how awkward his gangly limbs look on the short stools. But, that’s fine. He’s fine. The guy that leads bible study isn’t a whole lot older than the others, but Wonwoo’s sure he’s an adult; he laughs along with the teenagers in a way that’s good natured, almost endeared. 

Wonwoo decides that church isn’t for him after four months. It gives him something to talk about in therapy, though, and it somehow reinvigorates his desire to get better, be better. It also reminds him of his sex drive, funnily enough. 

There isn’t much of a need to leave his apartment, mostly because what he does for work can be done at his computer—game developing, programming. The occasional character concept designing if he has extra time to do favors for (internet) friends. Other than that, he spends his monotonous days watching anime, supporting his favorite girl groups with Youtube views and album purchases, reading philosophy novels. 

Essentially, before and after his church saga, Wonwoo seldom if ever stept (steps) outdoors. Everything that he wants or needs comes to him; and what he wants— _needs_ , arguably, since it’s been several years of involuntary celibacy—sits between his legs as he corresponds with his team via Discord about their newest project: a visual novel that takes a lot of inspiration from Steins;Gate.

Wonwoo has his microphone muted, fingers trembling over his neon-blue keyboard and barely able to pay attention to what his second developer is explaining needs to be fixed. Something, something, translations are fucked up in scene two of chapter one. His shorts are hanging from one ankle, Bible Study Leader crouched between his legs and currently swallowing his dick. 

Lee Chan. Before Wonwoo knew he was Pastor Lee’s son, he was the guy that giggled behind tiny hands whenever Wonwoo sat down on the stool. “You look like a spider,” he’d told Wonwoo between laughter. Wonwoo’s responding blush made him laugh harder. 

Cute. Chan was cute, with his glossy brown hair, boisterous cackle, and those suspenders he wore at least once a month over his blouse. Similarly to Pastor Lee, he was friendly, inviting, loud when he wanted to be, but also demure and soft-spoken around mixed company. He was one of the few people that didn’t allow Wonwoo to pretend to be invisible during service; “You’d be awful at hide and seek,” were Chan’s first words to him. It was an intermission, and Chan flew straight to Wonwoo’s corner seat to plop down _right_ beside him, smelling like clean linen and sunshine and purity and shit. 

“Too obvious?” Wonwoo said, eyes scraping over Chan’s white blouse with ruffles on the shoulders, black ankle slacks. Cute. 

Chan fixed Wonwoo’s circle frames where it was perched on his nose. “Too big,” he said, then smiled, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth.

Young and bold. Daring in a way nobody had been with Wonwoo… ever. Maybe Chan saw something in Wonwoo that he himself never knew existed. Maybe Chan just wanted to fuck the first guy he knew liked men. 

Either way, it’s Chan that continues to see Wonwoo well after he stops going to his father’s church. It’s Chan that sneaks off to Wonwoo’s apartment on weekend nights, to Wonwoo’s office room, and sucks his dick while Wonwoo tries to fucking work. 

_This_ , Wonwoo thinks as he tips his head down to watch Chan pull off the head of his dick with an obscene pop, _is what opens heaven_. 

“Talk to me,” Chan says with a shaky breath. His fringe is disheveled from Wonwoo’s ministrations, mouth red and wet, cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed a pretty pink. “Is— _haah_ —it good?” He pumps at Wownoo’s cock with a hand, squeezing on the upstroke and making Wonwoo’s thighs quiver, hips buck. 

There are several levels to this. For one, the office is pitch black save for the flashing, neon lights of his self-built computer, keyboard, monitor. And there’s the fact that Wonwoo should be listening to the meeting through his headset that _he_ himself mandated, considering that he’s the fucking lead developer. But, there’s _also_ the fact that his cock looks so much bigger in comparison to Chan’s tiny palm, short fingers that barely cover the circumference of his girth. That’s the most important level right now. Chan jerking him off, blinking wet eyes up at him and asking him if it’s a good blowjob as if he doesn't know the answer to that question already. 

“Very,” Wonwoo bites out. Fuck, everything’s trembling. His fingers, his thighs, his resolve. “So good, Channie.” 

Chan, visibly pleased, feeds himself Wonwoo’s cock again, humming with content when precome spurts from the slit and onto his tongue. His mouth is velvety soft, insanely hot and wet, and, wow, his hands aren’t the only thing small about him. Wonwoo thinks he can come just like this, with the view of Chan’s lips stretched around him, small mouth and small hand fighting to cover all of Wonwoo’s cock. 

“Cute,” Wonwoo groans before he can think better of it. He reaches down and holds Chan by the back of his head as Chan bobs up and down—taking more of him each time—before holding him there and fucking his hips forward; Chan sputters when his cockhead breaches his throat, reflexively tries to pull off but can’t with Wonwoo’s grip. “Oh, _god_ ,” Wonwoo rasps. “Channie, your thr— _ah_ ,” Chan’s throat spasms around him on another gag. Somehow that’s even cuter. 

“The deadline is next week, dude,” a teammate is saying through his headset, “She has to get that done. There’s no excuse why she can’t.” 

“Her being on vacation, maybe?” Siyeon. Of course. Voice actors have to stick together, or someth— 

Chan manages to pull back enough that Wonwoo’s tip sits on his bottom lip. He looks debauched, eyes and cheeks wet, saliva smeared on his chin and around his red-swollen lips. As he gasps for air, the thick phlegm from the back of his throat makes every breath sound wet and filthy. Wonwoo imagines taking a photo of this—Lee Chan, on his knees, looking fucked-out just from giving sloppy head—and sending it to his father. No, the entire _congregation_. 

What would they think? How many baptisms would it take to erase his sins? Wonwoo could help, baptize Chan by immersion when he shoots his come all over his face. 

So sick, but Wonwoo’s always been this way. Except he isn’t jacking it to porn anymore (or, rather, not as often), now that there’s a real, living person that willingly sticks around. He doesn’t want to question it, but he does. A lot. Even now. _Especially_ now, as Chan’s chest heaves, his hot breath shooting little tingles up Wonwoo’s spine. His lust-addled brain doesn’t bother to filter his every thought or action anymore; Wonwoo flattens his palm on Chan’s skull, fingers curling in, and uses his other hand to hold the base of his filthy cock as he shoves Chan back down on him. 

“C’mon,” his traitorous voice quivers despite his try for confidence. “Almost there, Channie, c’mon.” 

Chan makes a soft sound, like a whine, grabbing at Wonwoo’s thighs with wet fingers. “W’nt you t’ fuck me,” he says, hoarse. 

Wonwoo stops pushing. “Can’t,” he exhales, “I’m on a call.” But fuck does he want to. Wants to peel Chan’s tee shirt and shorts off, carry him to the bedroom and fuck him until he’s sobbing, writhing on his dick after two orgasms. He always insists that he can’t go three, four rounds, that it’s painful after the second one and there’s only so many times he can use being clumsy as an excuse for limping—but he’s lying. And he isn’t a quitter, either. He wants it, and he knows Wonwoo wants it, too. 

They have to get their fill while they have the chance. Once a week doesn’t cut it anymore. 

“Since when has that stopped you?” Chan says. 

“I can’t leave the computer,” Wonwoo retorts, “Fucking you requires me leaving.” 

Chan twists his head so that Wonwoo’s dick falls out of his mouth and hangs heavy between his legs. “Then fuck me here,” he huffs (it’s comical, kinda, to argue with someone that has spit and precome all over their face), “I can ride you while you pretend to work.” 

“Eager.” 

Chan sits back on his haunches, pauses to think. Then, looking up at Wonwoo, asks, “How long until the call is over?” 

“That’s,” Wonwoo starts. Now he pauses to think. With all his blood in one part of his body, his mind sputters, piecemeal, to life. “There’s no set time. It’s usually just un—“ 

“Wonwoo hyung,” his headset says, “You there? Hansol asked a question.” 

Wonwoo, frantic, stabs at his keyboard until he unmutes himself. “Wai—sorry—I was, uh, distracted. What did he ask?” 

Chan flops his dick from side to side, to which Wonwoo blindly slaps his hand away. Chan whines. 

“When do you need the scene four animation done? It’s taking me longer than I thought it would, as usual, so I was trying for Thursday. But, if you need it earlier we need to discuss cutting some scenes out. Like… like the part you wanted where Sanghoon runs into Baek—“ 

Chan gives his cockhead a firm suck, cheeks going hollow, tongue lapping up the beads of precome, and suddenly Hansol is speaking garbled nonsense. Wonwoo’s entire body jerks at the shock of pleasure; he once again jabs at the buttons until he’s mute again before releasing the moan that bubbled up in his throat. “Chan- _nn_ , fuck, you—“ _little shit_. 

Wonwoo makes eye contact with Chan, who, even with a cock halfway in his mouth, looks very pleased with himself. Then Chan’s eyes flutter closed as he takes Wonwoo deeper, swallowing around him when he gets to his throat. Wonwoo’s responding moan is low and gravely, almost pained. Alright. Fine. Fuck it. 

He disconnects from the call and flings his headset off, letting it fall noisily to the carpeted floor. He’ll just say he lost connection later, or something. But there’s absolutely no way he can pay attention with Chan sucking him off like he’s being paid for it. “You’re so stubborn,” Wonwoo says. “Don’t know what no means, do you?” Chan squeezes both of his thighs at this, hums and bobs his head before choking a little. Still, he pushes farther, throat so warm and tight, so addicting that Wonwoo wants to come like this. Shove himself to the hilt and hold Chan’s head there, blow his load straight into his esophagus and into his stomach. 

And, for that, perhaps Wonwoo _will_. 

“Shit,” Wonwoo breathes. Eyes rolling into his skull when Chan’s tongues at his frenulum on each upstroke, Wonwoo flops back onto his seat and tries to breathe. Chan chokes again, and Wonwoo kicks his hips up, has him choking some more. 

He opens his eyes just in time to watch a fresh batch of tears leak from Chan’s. And. God is one sick fuck for making Chan look so pretty sucking dick. He’s a sick fuck for giving Chan such a nice ass, too, distracting Wonwoo in the middle of _bible study_ , for fucks sake. 

Again— if only the pastor knew. The church. Knew that Chan begs for this shit, for Wonwoo to use him like a cock sleeve, to demean and tease him until he’s painfully hard and begging for mercy. Wonwoo’s had some time to accustom himself to this role, to say the thoughts that he’s kept inside because he was too afraid, because his previous partners were unwilling. 

God gave him this, though, did He not? Wonwoo says, “You wanted me to fuck you?” before grabbing a fistful of Chan’s hair and making him groan on his cock. “I—I will. Open your mouth,” and this is his _blessing_ . Chan goes lax, lets Wonwoo thrust past his gag reflex in firm, even strokes, and Wonwoo fucking _earned_ this. 

Peter 4:10. _As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace_. 

This is a sin Chan must repent for. Wonwoo, too, as an officiated child of Christ. But baptism is a sacrament of cleansing, no? _If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here_. 

So, Wonwoo uses his gift—a sputtering Lee Chan—and fucks his throat until he feels his orgasm pulsing, twisting his vision into stars and white cotton balls. “Coming, coming, shit,” Wonwoo gasps, losing rhythm, thrusts turning erratic and desperate. Phlegm dripping from Chan’s chin, soiling his tee, his shorts. Wonwoo tugs him off of his cock, and Chan sits with his jaw slack, tongue out, as Wonwoo paints hot spurts of come across his nose, cheeks, lips. “Shit, Chan, oh _fuh_ —“ Wonwoo cries, muscles coiling tight tight tight, curling him in like a comma. Then, slowly, Wonwoo huffs out the breath he was holding, relaxes in the office chair. 

The room fills with their heavy panting, neon lights bright and blue. 

Wonwoo gets it now. It made no sense to him for those patient, four months, disorienting like being the only sober person in a room (church) full of drunkards. But, this gives him new perspective. Chan and his persistence. His mouth and the way he trembles beneath him, above him. 

He can see what Jesus saw, upon resurfacing from the water. Heaven opening, and the Spirit of God, too, descending like a dove and alighting on him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the tiny hands references are for you. you know who you are. 
> 
> to those that read, thanks again!


End file.
